destiny and dust by denny
by denny-dc
Summary: A vampire's soul is the path to redemption or perhaps the bringer of apocalypses…something new and very old force Angel and Spike into a battle to save the world (again) and the women they both love. Canon through BtVS The Chosen and AtS Season Five, Da
1. april in paris

**chapter one - april in paris, 2005 **

_The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious_. Albert Einstein (1879-1955)

Buffy Summers sat up in the bed, clutching the heavy quilted blanket to her chest. Something was in the room. She pulled the covers even more snugly around her neck. An ear splitting noise had filled the air only a few seconds before. She looked around, searching for anyone or anything that might be hiding in the darkness. Gulping dry air rapidly into her lungs, she worked to soothe the cramped muscles in her chest.

Deep breaths, Buffy thought, if she just kept pulling the oxygen through her mouth into her lungs, she would calm down and be able to think. Unfortunately, the other side of her brain was telling her to get up, get out, and run away, as far and as fast as any vampire slayer had ever run. It might be better, Buffy supposed, if she could be someplace else. Except she knew there was no other place for her to be.

_Oh God. _There it was that oh-so-right-in-her-face screaming panic, creeping its way back over her body. "I've got to breathe." She forced herself to take an even more careful look around the room. Good, there was moonlight coming through the window and it illuminated a small spot in the corner of the room. Something about that corner _was_ familiar. There were scents in the air she recognized, too. _Yes, she knew where she was._ Even in the dark, (and it was very dark), she knew the room, the house, the bed and the life she was meant to live. It was her "destiny". Relaxing a little, she let the blanket go and reached through the darkness to touch the cool body that lay next to her. Snatching her hand back quickly, she pulled the quilt back tightly to her chest, almost in an embrace.

_Oh my God, Spike is here. _

If she could just stop trembling, everything would be okay. Calm down, she pleaded with herself. Maybe thinking about oceans and waves and the blueness of water as it lapped effortlessly onto the shore. That was relaxing, she thought. She loved the water – almost as much as she loved the vampire next to her. Being in love with him was like watching wave after wave, cresting over and over again, perfect white foam peaks in sterling blue water. Spike was grace and beauty, and his love was like the ocean – each wave was unique. Just like tonight, she remembered those times, long before, when she would watch him sleep and let herself love him completely.

Then it was there again, the cursed panic. Buffy shuddered as her throat began to hurt and her eyes burnt. _I've got to stop this, _she breathed. _S_he swallowed twice, and one more time just to make certain, as she sought control. She couldn't look at Spike. He was too close. She could feel him without touching him. His cool, pale skin seemed to glow with life and...

_Love, come lay down next to me. _

Spike was speaking to her. Then she remembered. No! It couldn't be him. It wasn't his voice. It was a line from a song Buffy had heard on the radio. _Spike, where are you? _Oh yes, he lay next to her. His body was strong, beautiful and so close. Cherishing its chill, Buffy reached out to touch the coolness and beauty that was Spike.

_Oh god, oh god, oh god. He's not here. This is not my bed, my room, not my windowsill_.

Buffy tried to stifle her fear as the truth raced into her mind. Sunnydale fell into a crater. Spike was gone. Dead. He died saving the world. His soul blazed before he went to dust.

_He's a champion, a dead glorious champion. _

Buffy stopped screaming when Willow rested her hand gently on her forehead. "Buffy, wake up, baby, it's just another dream."

She opened her eyes and saw the look of concern and pain in her best friend's eyes. "Angel promised to bring Spike back," Buffy whispered in between sobs.

Willow held her close, stroking her hair. "Buffy, Spike's been gone two years, and we haven't heard from Angel in a very long time. I'm sorry, Buffy. I'm so sorry."

Buffy settled down under her covers, allowing Willow to comfort her as she always did, each and every night when she awoke from the same dream.

"That's really cute." Buffy's gaze followed Lillie's pointing finger to the handbag on Buffy's arm. "I swear to god, it's really, really cute. It looks fantastic, and you've simply got to own it."

"Okay, Lillie, okay." Buffy was ready to scream. It was just a handbag. A purse. A thing to put things in. It wouldn't change her life. She would still be Buffy. Okay, Buffy with a really great purse, she preened momentarily before putting a halt to the moment of mini-joy she'd allowed herself. The shopping had been Willow 's idea, anyway, she recovered, slipping quickly back into her recently patented, _I'm really unhappy with life _mode.

Go with Lillie, Willow had said. It's April, and it's Paris. Get out of the apartment, and get some fresh air. You'll feel better, Willow had promised. Eventually, Buffy agreed. Of course, she wasn't exactly thrilled when this oh-so-great idea didn't apply to Willow – who stayed home.

Lillie could be fun though Buffy had to admit. It was just that, well, a shopping spree wasn't what she had in mind. Lately, her ideal day began with several hours of sulking, interrupted by fifteen-minute blocks of self-loathing, followed by a brief burst of mandatory tears. She knew she was being a little too tough on herself, okay, maybe more than a little. It had been two years, after all, since Sunnydale.

It was definitely good to have a new friend, though, especially one that hadn't been in her hometown at the end. There were no memories of Lillie standing next to Spike or Anya in the kitchen on Revello Drive. Lillie hadn't chased big bads through Sunnydale cemeteries at the side of the Scoobies and the then-only Chosen One. Lillie hadn't been there the day the sunlight ripped through the heart and soul of the bleached-blond vampire Buffy loved.

"How can you get over being the official last of the original Chosen Ones if every three minutes you go wonky and disappear into your own private Idaho?" Lillie stood up stretching her six-foot frame as she strolled over to the next counter stuffed with purses. Buffy watched Lillie as she grabbed another designer bag and threw it casually over her shoulder, turning and lifting her chin as she watched herself in the mirror.

Giles had introduced Willow and Buffy to Lillie. She had a large apartment in Paris and since Willow and Buffy needed a place to live – because Buffy didn't want to stay in London – Lillie was most definitely the gal they needed to know. Giles had given them what information he had about her: she was a young woman who was a distant relative to one of the deceased members of the Watcher's Council. It took only one two-hour telephone call, and the three girls were discussing décor, and the merits of the bedroom next to the kitchen at the end of the hall.

Buffy had to give it up to Lillie because besides the great apartment, there was just something about her. She was damn wealthy - always a good thing - and wicked smart. Willow and Lillie could spend hours discussing the role of physics as it related to the magics or something like that. Of course, Buffy would disappear when these brain-fests got out of control. Lillie also knew about slayers. When Giles first shared this little nugget of a detail, Buffy was bothered. She cornered Giles a few days before they were leaving for Paris, and drilled him with questions. Buffy demanded that Giles pledge on his personal volumes of the Watcher's Council's sacred _Encyclopedia on Vampires in the 19th Century_ that Lillie was not some kind of protection demon, or worse, a Watcher in training. Buffy didn't need a spy - just a roommate.

"You must learn the value of overpriced handbags. See. Take. Have," said Lillie giggling as she swung the purse idly.

"Yeah. See. Take. Have. I've heard those words before," said Buffy, recalling how Spike seemed to live by a former rogue slayer's motto. Well, no, maybe not live. He had existed quite nicely for nearly 120 years, considering the whole vampire lifestyle thing. In fact, he'd done quite well, until he fell in love with her.

"Damn right," Lillie's voice startled Buffy from her musings. "Those words don't describe you at all. You don't allow yourself that kind of flexibility. You're a slave to routine, Buffy. In my op, the first step to a cure for you is shopping, and shopping in Paris cures all."

"Yes, Lillie, you may be right, shopping is of the good, but I am of the broke," said Buffy. "We have different priorities. I need to stop shopping and avoid spending. You need to keep shopping and – to keep shopping,"

Buffy forced a small smile as she placed the purse back on the shelf and walked out of the shop. Over her shoulder, she called to Lillie. "No more shopping for me, it's time to go."

Lillie turned and dropped the bag on the table and followed Buffy out of the shop. They walked quickly through the streets of Paris.

They'd covered several blocks before Lillie stopped and turned to Buffy and asked," What did you say?"

"Huh, I didn't say anything. What ya doin', hearing voices?" queried Buffy, somewhat amused by Lillie's perpetual habit of asking questions about topics never mentioned, or answering questions never asked. She was wicked smart, okay. That's why Buffy excused the talking to herself compulsion as part of what brainy people did – just because they could, with their big busy brains and all.

"Hearing voices – yeah, that's it, or something like that," responded Lillie as she kept walking.

Lillie was worried, just a little, as she moved through the streets of Paris. Usually, she didn't make such glaring mistakes. The voices were always with her, of course, but she knew how to play them off. When she needed to respond aloud to her inner voices, or offer her own opinion, rarely, but offer nonetheless, she'd tag on a clever witticism. This ensured that Buffy and Willow would ignore her other odd mutterings. Lillie had learned within days of meeting her new roommates that they loved to hear themselves talk. Other folks, like her, really didn't keep their attention. They really didn't care about Lillie's odd habit of talking to herself, or at least not that much, she figured. If they did, Lillie was certain her roommates considered it a small quirk, a tiny price to pay, for a great apartment in Paris.

Today, the voice said that big changes were coming for Buffy Summers, Willow Rosenberg and Lillie Elisabeth Parker, a young woman who heard voices and made friends with witches and slayers. Thinking about its words, Lillie looked forward to changes in her tomorrows as she tried to recall what she couldn't remember about her past. She had no idea who she was or where she'd been until the day she spoke to the slayer and the witch on the telephone. But today, the voice said that she and her roommates would soon meet their destiny.

About time, thought Lillie, as she continued her brisk walk through the streets of Paris with the Slayer at her side.

_To be continued… _


	2. no more sunshine

**chapter two – no more sunshine **

It was a dark room except for the few touches of light coming from drum-shaped ceiling fixtures dropping spots of blue color on the black floor. Spike inhaled deeply enjoying the sharp burn in his throat as he lit another cigarette and watched the crowd from the doorway. The swarm of disjointed bodies moving mindlessly under the spell of so-called music almost distracted him from the smell of sweat and Jack Daniels. He hated the sweat. But the Jack – now, that was okay.

Thank goodness, Spike was a vampire. Two packs of cigarettes in less than four hours wouldn't do well for a human. Helped him though from tearing the soddin' head off the stinkin' Zeklar demon he'd been trailing since bloody sunset. Beast had traveled into every shit hole in LA leaving behind a stench that always kept it separate from the crowd. Was easy for Spike to follow. Not kill, though. He was on a no kill mission. Watch, learn and listen. Angel always gave Spike the shit assignments to test his patience.

_Bloody hell, these humans are bleedin' savages if they like this kind of music,_ Spike thought, as he swaggered through the entranceway past the pool table and the bar. Every sweaty body in the room seemed to be swaying as one. The Zeklar was hard to spot at first. But Spike could smell it. Glancing around the room, he saw it on the other side of the dance floor. Bouncing like an oversized crazed rabbit, the Zeklar seemed to be enjoying the music. Spike figured for that alone, it deserved to die.

_Well, ain't this bloody somethin'? _

As Spike stepped onto the dance floor, a small blonde woman moved close to him and pushed her breasts rhythmically against his chest. She grabbed his hips, a hand on either side, and stroked her pelvis against his. Spike responded instinctively, moving his groin against her. He was keenly aware that she was oblivious to the danger. Just a mindless body moving to senseless noise. Soul or no soul, Spike's demon began to take the lead, driving him closer to forgetting – and to remembering what he was. He grabbed the girl's ass with both hands and moved her against his hardening cock. For several uncountable seconds, Spike was aware of only two things – the smell of her warm blood, and his stiff cock twitching against her stomach. She looked up at him, and he saw her brown eyes.

_God help me._ He knew it was a futile plea.

"Spike!"

He turned to see Winifred Burkle standing behind him. She was as close to him as the blonde he held by the ass in front of him. This wasn't exactly Fred's kind of place. But she was there. She always seemed to show up when he needed her.

Untangling himself from the blonde, Spike turned and walked to the bar. He knew Fred was close behind and ordered two Jacks straight up as Fred sat in the empty stool next to him.

"Did you find it?" Fred was trying to look into his eyes. Spike knew she was checking on him, trying to see if he was in one of his moods.

He lifted his head and took a deep breath.

"Yeah, pet, it's still here."

_Are you ever going to have any fun, ever again? _

Angel stared at Cordelia Chase standing at the foot of the staircase outside his office.

_Mr. Retired Dark Avenger, turned CEO of Wolfram and Hart LA, is not a very funny man. _

"I know what I am," Angel said aloud as he reached for Cordy's hand. Then smiling slightly, he remembered Cordy was dead, at rest. Silent forever. Cordy's ghost disappeared and the familiar pain echoed through his empty chest. _God_, he missed her. Angel turned away from the staircase, and walked back toward his office. He didn't want to think about Cordy. He would focus on something else.

_Damn! Where was Spike? Damn little idiot,_ he cursed silently. Fred **and** Spike were supposed to call in and give him regular updates on the progress of their search for the Zeklar demon. Fred had called him several times during the past twenty-four hours. Of course, Spike hadn't called - once.

"Angel, you pounce, I heard that," Spike was in the office standing right behind him. Angel hadn't sensed him.

"I didn't say anything Spike."

"Oh, yeah you did - _I know what I am_," said Spike using what he liked to call Angel's drama queen voice. Angel hated that, and besides Angel knew that Spike knew that he _never_ sounded like any kind of a queen.

"Well, there, I know what you are, too...you thick-headed, lift wearing, Nancy boy." Spike flopped into the nearest chair.

"I wasn't talking to you, Spike." Angel sat in the chair behind his super-sized desk and raised his face toward the sunlight pouring through the specially treated glass in the floor to ceiling windows of his office. Closing his eyes, he rested for a moment. Spike was quiet, too, thank God. Angel knew Spike enjoyed the sensation of the sun on his face. Just like he did. That's why the two vampires sat in silence for a few moments, feeling the daylight on their dead skin.

The two nearly jumped out of their chairs when Fred's high-pitched voice startled them both as she burst into the office, practically shouting.

"Angel, did Spike tell you? We got the Zeklar and I think well, I mean, well, we may have figured out why it's here!"

Angel watched somewhat amazed as Fred practically slid across the floor of the room before screeching to a halt behind Spike's chair. Immediately, she began grinding her heels into the carpet and swaying her long lean frame from side to side while clenching her hands behind her back. She was wearing one of those too short dresses; she seemed to throw on carelessly. She wasn't a snappy dresser, thought Angel. Long brown hair mussed from fingers pulling at it unconsciously, glasses askew – but her large bright brown eyes always blazed with answers. Angel realized he was holding a needless breath. He wished she would stop fidgeting and begin talking about the Zeklar.

"This demon is a metaphysical messenger able to travel through time and dimensions. Its purpose is to deliver a message to any one that seeks it out. And you know, since you sent Spike and me after the Zeklar, we were seeking it out, so to speak. That means it decided to deliver its message to us. Or to me rather."

Fred paused to catch her breath, placing one hand on the headrest of Spike's chair, and the other on his shoulder, prompting him to speak.

"Right, pet," Spike began, stirring in his seat in response to Fred's nudging. "The Zeklar is from a hell dimension called, well, the Zek dimension, because, you know, Zeklars would live in Zek."

"They are gods, literally, gods," Fred continued. She had elicited Spike's input, but wasn't going to let him take over the telling of the story, observed Angel. At least not completely, which worked for him. Too much Spike talk would make listening way too aggravating.

"There are millions upon millions of Zeklars in Zek, and they rule everything. Except they had one true enemy. Like most gods, there's always something that pisses them off. And for the Zeks, it was a Wiccan tribe called the L' Quaratong. Not really witches like we know them in our dimension, but they controlled all the magics and were very powerful."

"You're using a lot of past tense here for these Wiccans," offered Angel. "What did the Zeklar say happened to them?"

"They destroyed them, two million Wiccans, according to the Zek – were obliterated," said Fred, her voice taking on its calmest tone, since she had walked into Angel's office.

"Tough group of witches, though," said Spike. "Took a thousand years for them to be wiped out. But wouldn't you know it, a few got away."

Spike, still sitting in the chair in front of Angel's desk, leaned forward as he continued. "Seems seven of these bloody witches escaped the Zeklars' thousand year war, and of course, they're headed here, to our dimension. Waiting to start some truly big badness."

Angel took a deep breath. "So we are going to help the Zeklar find these witches."

"Not exactly." Fred smiled slightly as she kept her eyes on Angel while she moved from behind Spike's chair to sit on the armrest next to him.

"Didn't think so." Angel rested his head in his hands, rubbing his brow.

"Well peaches, seems like this Zek tale is giving you a wee bit of a headache," Spike was smirking. "Don't like seein' boss man in pain. Guess we'll tell you what else the Zeklar had to say."

Spike stood up, raising his arms above his head, clearly imitating the gyrations of the Zeklar during its confession. "All dramatic like, the Zeklar raised his arms and head to the sky and shouted, I'm ready to deliver my message."

"You mean this long tale about hell dimensions, demon gods and witches, is NOT the Zeklar's message?" There was no response from either Fred or Spike as Angel looked from one to the other. "Then tell me WHAT the HELL is the message?"

"Well, it's based on science, physics actually," started Fred, who looked as if she was about to go into full lecture-mode. Angel decided to let her roll with it as he worked to calm down.

"You know about physics and matter. Well, just in case you don't - matter is composed of a set of particles called quarks, and the basic quarks are called 'up,' 'down' and 'strange.' Theorists have claimed that a fourth quark, a 'charmed' quark, is ready to emerge, and the fifth, sixth and seventh Wiccas – I mean quarks – are already here. They don't know who they are yet. They're just learning to become the – the Seven Wiccas."

Angel gave Fred his best blank stare and rumpled brow, but with a slight nod of his head, gestured for her to continue.

"This is about science and magic, and something very different from the evil prophecies we usually deal with. This is really, I mean really supernatural and science at the same time."

Angel was growing impatient and he knew he couldn't keep himself in check much longer. He realized that Fred would say it soon enough, but he needed to hear it, now. "Fred, please. One last time. What was the Zeklar's message?"

"Charm begins the end," she said. "That's the message. Think physics and it will click. It's new magic. Well, new to us. But very old in the Zek dimension. The truth, I mean, the beauty of it is that the L' Quaratong or the Seven Wiccas when united have more power than we can ever imagine."

Angel watched Fred's excited expression as she looked from vampire to vampire.

"Charm begins the end," she repeated. "That's the message. Don't you see? When the Zeklar said it, I immediately thought of the quarks. It's as if the basic principles of physics have taken an evil form, something very powerful, and these powers don't even know they exist, but they will, and they do already, but separately, not as one."

Fred raced through her words as she looked from Angel to Spike.

"Don't you understand, they are here," Fred was practically shouting. "If Charm is the fourth quark, we can assume it represents the fourth Wicca. Not the first, but the fourth. So the others are already here. In. Our. Dimension." Fred paused, and took several deep breaths.

Angel glanced at Spike who had eased back in his chair, while Fred, still sitting next to him on the chair's armrest, sat erect and still, no fidgeting in sight, now. Angel stared at the two of them with the same blank expression he had adopted earlier during the conversation. Then he stood slowly, and walked to the windows, glancing at Spike and Fred. Angel saw that Spike looked relaxed, ready to do battle - ready to be the warrior he was. Fred, his scientist, was ready, too. Most important, Angel sensed that neither one of them knew what was about to happen. Surprisingly, he was especially pleased Spike didn't remember. Although, that was a little tough to admit - even in his own mind.

Angel faced the windows, and stood in the sunshine pouring through them. It was too soon for Fred or Spike to see the truth. Indeed, he wished they might never find out that he knew more about the Seven Wiccas than anyone could ever imagine - anyone, except for Buffy.

_To be continued_


	3. chocolate and berries

**chapter three - chocolate and berries **

Willow was extremely comfy alone in the sun-filled apartment on the second floor of the arty old building on the Champs Elysees. She'd spent most of the day curled up on the big cushy sofa, cross-legged, breezing through the old issues of _Zurban Paris_ she loved. She also was enjoying, fresh from Lillie's expresso machine, a foamy mocha latte in an over-sized mug, which now rested on the coffee table in front of her, waiting for Willow to take another delightfully luscious sip. She'd baked a double-chocolate layer cake, too, which, fresh out of the oven, was cooling in the kitchen.

This was Willow's happy day, her reward. After weeks of doling out a limitless supply of nightly hugs, reassuring words and ever-ready temple messages, Willow needed a break. She was exhausted. Night after night, she had been the only one able to calm Buffy after the 'big bad' dreams. Willow grimaced at her double entendre about Buffy's beloved Spike, the former big bad of Sunnydale and the featured player in Buffy's nightmares.

_Oh, boy,_ she sighed.

Willow imagined it was living in Paris that allowed her to accept the idea that Buffy had loved Spike – and moped around like she still did. But she would never believe that Buffy had loved him _that _much. Willow preferred to think of Spike as more of a metaphor for Buffy's guilt for surviving the Apocalypse. No way, Buffy missed Spike the way Willow missed Tara. That wasn't Willow being selfish either, she reasoned. She just hoped her best friend wasn't going through that kind of pain. Better to love less than be destroyed by loss. _Wasn't it?_ She wondered. Then Willow thought about Kennedy.

She could have stayed with Kennedy and traveled the world, reigning in potential slayers from remote, exotic locations for years. Willow _was _the supreme princess of witches, following her mega-spell that changed the lineage of slayers forever. She could do whatever she wanted. No doubt, she could have remained with Kennedy and seen the world. All the same, Willow left Kennedy on a sunny afternoon standing outside a small café some place in Brazil, stunned into silence by Willow's few, but precise words, "I'm leaving you. I don't love you, and I don't want to be with you anymore."

Yeah, today was Willow's day to concentrate on Willow.

Shit, she cursed to herself as she heard the keys jingle in the front door lock. Looks like time's up. She rose from the sofa, grabbed her half-filled cup, and strolled into the kitchen to dabble some fresh berry icing over her chocolate cake.

Dinner was not going very well. Sure, the apartment looked great, all homey and all. The food looked good, too, and Buffy expected to gorge herself on a big piece of chocolate cake no matter what. However, the tension between her and Willow was escalating with each word that dropped like angry sparks from Willow 's mouth. Buffy didn't want to hear it. She didn't need to be lectured. Not today, not ever. She wasn't in the mood to analyze, research or dissect her dreams. No, not these dreams. How dare Willow imply that she felt guilty about being alive? When had that ever happened?

Oh yeah, there was that time she had been ripped from heaven by her friends and brought back to life, Buffy recalled, angrily. That was Willow's fault. Likewise, didn't Giles say that he and Anya were told by the eye thing that the First manifested stronger than ever because Buffy lived? So, the First was Willow's fault, too. And the First was the reason Spike died. That meant Spike's death was Willow's…Buffy put a full stop to her bulldozer train of thoughts and took a deep cleansing breath. This territory might be better left un-traveled. But that didn't mean she wasn't going to yell.

"Spike died to save us. He chose to stay in the Hellmouth to make certain it was destroyed," shouted Buffy. She didn't look at either Willow or Lillie. She sat staring straight ahead.

"Buffy, I know this is hard. It just might help if you'd admit how you feel," Willow paused and rested her wine glass on the table, and leaned forward in her chair. "Maybe if you could do this, you could move on."

"You've got to be kidding me," Buffy wanted to cry, but instead, she stood up abruptly from the table, pushing her chair to the floor as she rose. "Are **you** over Tara ? Are **you** over Anya? Are you over any of them who died?"

"So, it should have been you sacrificing your life instead of Spike," Willow was shouting, and Buffy was long past having lost her patience. She needed to hit something.

"You've died twice to save the world. Now, you want to stop living because Spike decided his breathless body was worth sacrificing to save the world?" Willow just wouldn't stop. Buffy wanted to scream.

"Spike was more than a body. He was more than that – he was, more," Buffy's voice cracked.

"Buffy, he was a vampire. Not a man. Still he showed us the man he wanted to be by choosing to stay in the Hellmouth." Willow was facing Buffy, so close they could almost touch each other. "Maybe you should forgive him Buffy, for leaving you."

That was it. Buffy couldn't listen to Willow any more. She stood up and walked out of kitchen, down the hallway through the front door, before running down the stairs and out of the apartment building.

She needed to find something to kill.

_To be continued…_


	4. physics

**chapter four - physics **

Fred was exhausted. After the Zeklar chase, capture and debrief, she headed straight to her apartment the moment Angel gestured for them to get out of his office. Besides, she knew that in a few hours he would call them back to Wolfram and Hart for another round of research and answers. So her game plan was simple: Get some rest and get some food before getting back to the task of locating Charm, and the rest of the Seven Wiccas.

Rest wasn't going to be that easy with Spike hanging around, though. She wondered if Winifred Burkle and vampires was a match made in friendship heaven, or would that image work better if she thought hell instead? Nonetheless, Spike was in her living room as she banged around in the kitchen, looking for something to cook and checking for bags of blood that might be in the refrigerator. Absently, she listened as Spike flipped through the channels on the television, searching for one of those strange shows he seemed to love.

Alone in her kitchen, Fred suppressed a grin as she recalled the first time she'd seen Spike. He had been in Angel's office rising out of an amulet in a swirl of wind, noise and fury. At Wolfram and Hart, Spike's rebirth was not that big of a deal. Yet, he really got to her. There was just something about him. Even with Angel's warnings about this vampire who had killed two slayers and manipulated the trust of another, Fred had never been afraid of Spike. She saw what Angel refused to admit. Spike was important. He was special.

That's when it started between the two of them. To Fred, their connection had been instantaneous, and strong. Overnight, she became so familiar with Spike's quirks; she could recite his daily platitudes about Angel in her sleep. Testing her skills, she whispered in her pseudo-Spike voice, "Working at Wolfram and Hart was the biggest mistake of my un-life" he'd complain. "Peaches is a bloody ponce and a miser," he'd shout. Spike had at least seventy maxims for Angel alone, Fred calculated, maybe more.

"All I do is sniff out Angel's bloody list of demon fugitives. The mates at the pub call me Angel's vampire basset hound." That was one of Fred's favorites.

Spike was right. He was known as Angel's tracking machine – or hound. With that kind of rep, not too many patrons at the neighborhood strip joints Spike frequented sat down to chat with him at the end of a long night. Course, Fred did. She was his partner, though, so it was expected. And she loved it.

"Fred and Spike, Gilbert and Sullivan, Liz Taylor and Michael Jackson, Mork and Mindy, Batman and…um…Catwoman," he'd say.

"Spike I get the picture," she'd respond.

"Oh, yeah. Sorry, pet." It would go on like that for hours, Fred recalled, giggling.

Many things Spike said made her laugh aloud, actually. She really loved his company. Right after he became corporeal and Angel paired them, she began to invite him to her apartment after a successful demon chase. As soon as they arrived at her place, Fred would go directly into the kitchen to grab lots of food for herself and pints of blood for Spike. She started keeping fresh pig's blood regularly in her fridge right after their first mission together. When she was too tired to cook, they'd order take out. He loved spicy, fried foods like hot-sauce drenched chicken wings and deep-fried floured onions. She loved Chinese.

After they'd eaten, the two exhausted demon chasers would plop down on the sofa and laugh about Angel (Spike's first choice of conversation), the latest demon fugitive (Fred's pretend focus), and then finally, about what was really on their minds.

By this time, Fred would be sitting close to Spike and sometimes he'd put his arm around her, and she would rest her head against his chest. They'd watch TV, she would giggle, and he would smirk as he joked about her skinny legs, her Texas drawl and her "big brain inside that pretty little head."

Eventually, Spike would begin talking about Angel, Drusilla, Buffy, torment, or the brutality of immortal life.

Fred would talk about physics.

As she reached for another pot and placed it on the hot stovetop, she came to a realization. If she allowed it, Spike would engulf her completely with his beauty, his kindness and his unwavering loyalty and love. She shivered with the thought. Then she shrugged and concluded, speaking softly, _"it's inevitable._"

He was so much like Angel. And just like when she first met Angel, Spike was never afraid to show her his passions and fears. Yet, it was fear that controlled them both, she believed. They were immortals, but more afraid of life than any beings she'd ever known.

Spike sat in the big arm chair in the living room of Fred's apartment thinking about the things that had gone wrong in his un-life while trying to hang on to the memory of the one thing that had gone right.

Fred was in the kitchen, fixing something to eat. He heard pots and pans clanking, and water running. He also thought he heard her singing some song by the Dixie Chicks, or some other girl group she liked. He'd spent a lot of time with Fred since coming back from dust and the Hellmouth. Whether Spike was corporeal or not, Fred was simply easy to be with. She didn't ask for anything, said what she meant and acted on her words. Spike was "special" and a "champion," according to Fred, and she accepted him for what she thought he was – something worth saving. That should have made him feel, well, good about himself. Most of the time, however, he felt lonely. The rest of time just plain angry.

It had been hard work for Fred and Spike tracking the Zeklar, getting it to talk, and delivering the message to Angel. Spike hadn't done that much on the message delivery end, but just being in the same room with Angel was hard work. In the months since his rebirth, Spike's irritation with his grandsire had no boundaries. Angel just pissed Spike off. They'd been a part of each other's worlds in one form or another since Spike became a vampire – nearly 120 years give or take a decade. Angel knew Spike better than Spike knew himself. Perhaps this truth made Spike the angriest. No, there was something—no, someone—else at the core of what was eating at Spike's soul.

_Yeah, it was still all about Buffy. _

Spike sighed, and let himself sink deeply into the soft chair. He spread his legs wide, getting even more comfortable as he let his head fall back against the headrest. He stretched his arms lazily and allowed them to fall easily over the chair's arms, which were soft and round and firm all at once. It felt good languishing in this chair. Spike was almost asleep when she knelt before him. He hadn't heard her walk in, but even though his eyes were closed, he knew she was there. She leaned forward, between his legs and reached to unbutton his shirt, the blue one, which he wore rarely these days. This day, he'd worn it with no T-shirt underneath. She moved her hands quickly and skillfully unbuttoning each button one after another. She opened the shirt and placed her hands on his bare chest. Her touch was warm, very warm. Her fingers lingered over the muscles of his chest, and she began to rub her thumbs over his nipples. First tentatively, then firmly; then fast, and then slowly, she moved her hands from his nipples down to his stomach.

Finally, her hands reached the top of his jeans, and she unzipped his pants. He was very hard, and when she freed his cock, Spike's breathing became harsh, needless and necessary all at once.

Caressing him with her hands, she held his cock gently before covering it with her mouth. Instantly, she was licking, kissing, and sucking him feverishly. Spike felt hot and wet all over as she teased him with her tongue, soaking his pulsing erection with moisture. He groaned, and fought the urge to pull her closer. He didn't want to orgasm. Not yet. He needed this to last as long as possible. Then she sucked deeply. His balls tightened as she moved her mouth from the base of his cock to its tip, lapping his pre-cum into her throat. Lifting her head, she gazed into his eyes and swallowed. Spike nearly lost all control as she released him. Suddenly she was standing and leaning forward, placing her mouth on his. The kiss began slowly. She tasted like chocolate and berries. His tongue responded to hers, eagerly entering her mouth, devouring it. He could kiss her for an eternity. All too soon, though, she stopped kissing him, tearing away from his lips as she reached to pull his pants down to his ankles. He helped her by lifting himself, hungry to feel her drenched body around his. She must have felt the same, he thought, as she quickly climbed into the chair and positioned her knees on either side of his hips.

He needed to be inside her. When she slid onto him, he pushed into her as deeply as he could, holding her hips firmly against him while he tightened his ass muscles to increase the force of his thrust. He shuddered as she returned his intensity with her own downward push. Closing his eyes even more tightly, he grabbed her around the waist and spoke from the core of his still heart in a whisper, "Oh god, Buffy, I've missed you so much."

When he said Buffy's name, Spike opened his eyes and saw, nothing.

He could hear Fred, still in the kitchen, and smell Buffy in the big empty room.

Spike heard Fred's voice calling his name and he closed his shirt, and pulled up his pants too quickly for human eyes to comprehend.

"Spike, did you say something." As Fred walked into the room, he leaned forward in the chair, and placed his hands over his eyes.

"Spike," she said again.

He looked up, and he knew she understood the look in his eyes.

"Fred, I was with Buffy. Just now. I was with her. Wasn't dreaming. Know I wasn't dreaming." He looked down, shaking his head. "She was here or I was there. Doesn't matter. I just know, we were together."

_to be continued…_


	5. shared dreams

**chapter five – shared dreams **

Lillie heard a soft moan, then a strangled whimper just before a chorus of breathless _ohmygods _filled the dark hallway. Pausing, she stood motionless, searching for the source of the sounds. She could tell the voices weren't the usual suspects – those weird miracles that only lived inside her head. These groans and shuddering sighs came from the room at the end of the hall. Lillie inched down the hallway, stepping carefully, no, tiptoeing slowly, toward the sounds of ecstasy pouring from Buffy's bedroom.

She didn't sleep so prowling the apartment at two or three o'clock in the morning wasn't unusual. Besides, Lillie's nights thrived on sound. Creaking floorboards where no one stood, tapping fingers on unplugged keyboards searching for answers no one wanted, and the aching wind and rain slamming against her frightened soul – yeah, sleep was overrated. That's why she never slept. Anyway, the voices never liked it when she wasn't there.

Now Lillie was standing inches away from Buffy's door, barely breathing as she concentrated on the voices.

For a moment, Lillie speculated that, after the big fight with Willow, Buffy had decided to soothe her pain with a mysterious stranger. Of course, that didn't sound much like the Buffy Lillie knew. Still, the slayer was definitely not alone in her bedroom. Lillie even contemplated the possibility that Willow and Buffy were in there making up in an entirely new and different fashion. Their argument at dinner had been _way too _intense. But nothing Lillie had ever seen between her two roommates explained the idea of them together behind the doors – not making noises like that. Then Lillie heard a baritone's sob. Ah! Buffy was with a man. The lower register said it all. This voice was distinctly male.

So she had found someone to ease her pain, smirked Lillie silently. Buffy had been out of control, running out of the apartment after dinner, frantic and tormented by Willow's words about her dead demon lover. Yet it didn't make sense from what Lillie knew of Buffy for her to be in bed with just anyone. The Slayer didn't seek release with strangers. Maybe a good brawl, but the sounds of passion coming from her bedroom didn't read brawl.

"Oh, god, no!" At the sound of Buffy's anguished words, Lillie went rigid for an instant, and then grabbed the knob and pushed the door open before stepping unabashedly into the room. "Buffy, are you alright?" she asked.

"Oh, god." Buffy said, sitting up in her bed, nude, facing the door as she quickly pulled the white sheets around her neck, attempting to cover herself.

"Are you alright?" Lillie repeated, her eyes roaming the room, looking for the man she'd heard cry out.

"No, I mean. Yes, I'm okay," Buffy responded, adjusting her body to a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Then turning her head to look directly at Lillie, she said, "Wake Willow up now. I need to talk to her."

"Okay." Lillie closed Buffy's bedroom door, and headed toward Willow's room but not before Lillie's private, special voice began its nightly ritual. It was finally time to leave Paris the voice said. As had been prophesied in the other place, Buffy's desire was going to make it all possible. Lillie stopped once she reached Willow's door. "Here we go," she murmured as she opened the door to give Willow Buffy's message.

_Where's my big, nerdy vampire? My shy, clumsy dork of a vampire? _

Angel decided to listen to his inner Cordy. Let her talk and maybe she'd go away, he hoped.

_You know, I love you. Know why? Because of the how you care for your family, your friends. Always trying not to show them how much you care. _

Yeah, she'd said something like that to him once before, he recalled.

_You know big guy, I really miss you. You're my big brooding wonderful, okay, sometimes sexy, vampire. And we need you to save the day. _

This was Angel's curse; Cordy's voice whispering scriptures into his soul reminding him of his latest sins, shortcomings and missed opportunities. That was his Cordelia. The last time Angel had seen her in the flesh or what he thought was flesh, she said she was moving on, following a different path. She surprised him, as usual. That path cut through his very soul. How prophetic; the Powers That Be allowed him to keep his Cordy as a little voice in his head, dropping by regularly to remind him of what he'd lost.

Angel sat alone in his office in the big chair behind his desk. Hours had passed since Fred and Spike had delivered the message from the Zeklar. And it was many hours since he'd called Gunn and Wesley into his office to let them know just enough to keep Wesley busy researching, and Gunn busy doing whatever it was Gunn did these days at Wolfram and Hart.

Angel was almost satisfied. He'd successfully maneuvered a little time alone to sort a few things out.

Buffy would be in LA soon. After the dream, she and Spike would need to see each other. Angel needed them to see each other. He had wanted to tell Buffy Spike was back months before. He even tried once, but nothing could penetrate Paris. There was no way to talk to her once she and Willow arrived in Paris. The barrier was in place and would not be removed until Buffy made her choice. So, Angel let it go. After Spike had become corporeal, he'd put him to work, That was a good decision. Fred and Spike clicked. They worked well together, and Fred kept Spike away from Angel, for the most part. That was even better.

Angel wasn't worried about Spike and Fred, anyway. Once Buffy, Willow and this Lillie arrived, that's when things would get dicey. He had no control over what might happen then. For the time being, he might as well deal with the things he could control. The Zeklar was imprisoned in one of the many cells underneath Wolfram and Hart. It had not said a word since delivering its message. So Angel decided to help the Zeklar find its tongue. He already knew most of what it would say. However, that wasn't the point.

Angel wanted to torture the Zeklar, personally. He would relish every minute he spent inflicting unimaginable pain upon this monster from the Zek dimension.

"Fred, come on pet, I know you can suss out this bloody mess. Was it a damn portal or a parallel universe or, ah, damn portal?"

Fred sat on the stool opposite Spike at the tall-legged laboratory table. She'd heard him, sort of, but she was daydreaming, thinking about home. Then she remembered. They were in the lab at Wolfram and Hart. They'd been there a while. Fred looked at Spike. He was watching her, and waiting.

"Okay, so you and Buffy were in my living room and you were able to touch each other, right? But she's in Paris, right?"

"Yeah, well, no. Angel said she's on her way to LA." Spike spoke softly. "Was in Paris when I touched her, while sittin' in your living room, though."

"Did Angel tell Buffy that you were back?"

"Didn't have to, she knew."

Fred walked around the table and sat next to him. He turned on the stool so that they were facing each other.

"Spike, I think I know why you were able to be with Buffy," began Fred. "Remember the Zeklar's message, Charm begins the end."

"Yeah, but we still don't know shit about Charm. Don't even know if it's a who, or a what."

"I believe I know, in a way," Fred spoke very quietly as Spike watched her intently. "I told you and Angel that the Zeklar's message foretold the coming of the fourth of the seven Wiccas."

"Yeah, Fred, but what does this have to do with me and Buffy?" Spike's voice dropped to a whisper. "Why could I touch her, smell her?"

"When you fell in love with Buffy, you said she told you she couldn't care for you because you were an evil soulless thing. You were chipped and soulless and, of course, a vampire, so you were incapable of love, according to Buffy."

"Yeah, that's what she bloody believed. She just saw life in black and white."

"I know," Fred felt something coming, and it was very close.

"Bloody hell, Fred. I know what I said," Spike paused, exhaling his frustration. "I know what happened and didn't happen between me and Buffy."

"I know you love her. You always have and you always will." Fred's voice didn't waver but she glanced down at her hands for a second before looking back into Spike's eyes. "Do you believe Buffy can change?"

"What do you mean?"

"It was the Zeklar that allowed you and Buffy to be together the other night. He brought you together by warping time, and altering space, surprisingly. I didn't know the Zeklar could do that until today," Fred paused before continuing, but she had to get it all out, as quickly as possible.

"Until today, I didn't know the Zeklar was a traitor to its own kind." Fred turned her back and spoke almost too quietly for even Spike to hear.

"Why did the Zeklar want me and Buffy together?" demanded Spike.

Fred could tell he was trying to control his anger. As she glanced away, she caught sight of a few yellow sparks flashing in his blue eyes. She had to finish.

"Did I mention that the fifth quark is Color? And black and white are pure color."

Spike stood and began pacing. Then he shoved his hands deeply into his pockets causing his duster to swirl, creating a big black swoosh.

"What you tryin' to say, Fred? Just because I said Buffy sees things in black and white she's," he hesitated. "She's some sort of witch?"

Fred saw that Spike was more than angry; he was almost dangerous as he shouted, "She's a slayer, pet. Not a witch. That be Red, not Buffy."

"This has little to do with who Buffy is. It's all about how much she is willing to sacrifice," Fred felt strange and suddenly very tired. "Buffy is Color, the fifth of the seven Wiccas."

"How the bloody hell do you know this?" shouted Spike. "You figure it out in this laboratory lookin' at a few soddin' books on physics, quarks and damned witches, or whatever the bloody hell else you're doin' here?"

Fred stood and looked up at the ceiling. She thought she could see through it, into the night sky and the heart of time. There was beauty and truth, and she understood why the Zeklar was a traitor to its own kind.

"I know because I am Charm, the fourth Wicca, and I am the beginning of the end."

Fred closed her eyes, as her body slid slowly to the floor.

_To be continued…_


End file.
